


Gifts and Talents

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: British Actor RPF, British Comedy RPF, The Goodies RPF
Genre: M/M, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: Graeme wants to try something new.





	Gifts and Talents

Bill Oddie doesn’t think it’s fair. It’s not fair that Graeme has this gift. It’s not fair that he knows he has it. It’s certainly not fair that he _uses_ it. 

Ninety percent of the time it’s not fair.

Eighty percent if it’s a good day.

Graeme has power over him. While Bill has been blessed with vocal chords that can hold a tune and sing a melody and, admittedly, render the British pop charts his slave, Graeme has a much stronger power. One that makes Bill go weak at the knees. One that makes Bill want to surrender all control to him. One that, when wielded correctly, and boy does Graeme wield it correctly, renders him incoherent and helpless.

Graeme’s voice is a constant distraction. When they’re writing together. When they’re performing in front of several cameras and a live audience. When they’re recording together.

He considers it a small mercy that Graeme clearly tones it down in those situations, but brings it out in full force the moment they’re alone.

Like right now. They’re in bed. Graeme is reclining against the bedhead and he’s straddling his hips. Their clothes were discarded a few minutes ago and they’re in that blissful state where things haven’t gotten too hot and heavy yet, they’re simply enjoying each other. Graeme’s smiling up at him, eyes looking into his own, bright blue and if he’s feeling honest and poetic it’s like the fucking sun coming out.

Then Graeme’s mouth quirks up in a smirk and he feels a sense of trepidation. That look is usually accompanied by an incisive, barbed witticism, or an incredibly deviant idea and he doesn’t feel like Graeme’s in a particularly droll mood.

“Bill,” Graeme drawls slowly, and Bill moans. That one word feels like a hand has reached down to stroke him to full hardness.

Bill desperately tries to think of something, anything to keep his mind distracted, and his dignity and reputation in tact. They might have known each other for going on fifteen years, but he would never hear the end of it if he lost it at that.

“I’ve had an idea,” Graeme continues, idly tracing patterns with his fingers on Bill’s hips.

“I thought you might have,” Bill responded, counting the wrinkles, freckles and blemishes on Graeme’s face. His own hands are braced on Graeme’s shoulders, and using them as leverage, he rolls his hips sinuously against Graeme’s. He achieves his objective as he feels Graeme shiver underneath him and sees him close his eyes, the smile momentarily gone from his face as it gives way to pleasure.

“Mmm,” Graeme responds, and the thrum of that deep voice settles somewhere low in his abdomen. “Yes, I think I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind?”

“And what is it, exactly, that you’d like to try, Gray?” Bill is thoroughly enjoying this, but understandably apprehensive about what plan Graeme might be concocting.

“Do you trust me?” Graeme asks in lieu of an answer. He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls Bill closer to him, leaning forward to speak directly into his ear.

“Trust me.” He commands, and Bill is lost. He nods his head and his hips pick up their pace against Graeme until their progress is hampered by two deceptively strong hands holding his hips.

“Okay, okay I trust you!” Bill shouts hurriedly, despairing at the loss of friction.

“Good, good.” Graeme murmurs happily. That sound fills Bill with a sense of achievement and he couldn’t mistrust Graeme if his life depended on it.

“Now, Bill. I want you to prepare yourself. Take your time, but I want to watch you.” Bill nods eagerly as he leaps over to the bedside table to get the jar of lube and liberally coats his fingers before reaching behind himself. 

To an outsider, Graeme would look like a passive observer, but Bill knows him better. Bill can see the tell-tale pulse at his temple, the breath coming out of him in short bursts, and can feel his hands, so hot they’re like brands where they touch his skin.

Graeme doesn’t take his eyes off Bill, but reaches to the bedside table for a condom, unwraps it and rolls it on as Bill finishes preparing himself.

Bill reaches for Graeme and presses their foreheads together, needing the deep breaths to get his body under control.

He pulls back after a few moments, positioning himself over Graeme. He feels the jolt of an abrupt inhalation as he takes hold of Graeme’s cock and very slowly inches down. 

It amazes Bill how this always feels so incredible. Why did it take so long for them to find this? Once he’s got his breath back, he starts moving slowly, up and down, gauging the reactions on Graeme’s face. It’s a picture of tortured self-restraint.

Removing his right hand from Graeme’s shoulder, he reaches down to give himself a tug, bring him along to the same place Graeme is clearly already at. 

“No!” he hears, as Graeme is pulled out of his trance.

“No?” Bill asks incredulously. 

“The… “ Graeme trails off in his explanation. “Trust!” he tries to pick up their bizarre conversation from earlier.

“You trust me.” Graeme seems desperate for this concept to be understood.

“Yes! I trust you.” Bill hasn’t stopped moving, and is paying less attention to Graeme than he is to finding the precise angle he needs to tilt in order to get Graeme to graze against his prostate just so.

“Bill.” Graeme says, his voice a command.

Bill shivers at that and stops moving entirely. “Yes, Graeme?”

“Can you do something for me?” he asks. Graeme’s voice is velvet, wrapping itself around his whole being and doing more for his cock than the quick solitary tug he’d been about to indulge in could ever have managed.

“Nhggh yes,” Bill moans. 

“Can you come without being touched, on my command?” Bill feels Graeme’s prick twitch inside him and knows he’d dedicate his life to making that happen for Graeme if need be. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he answers truthfully. “But I’ll try.” 

Graeme’s hips stutter underneath him and Bill keens as he sinks impossibly further down onto him.

“Good boy,” Graeme murmurs and Bill feels the compliment like a caress down his spine. He resumes his movements, rolling his hips up, forward and down, true to his word at not touching himself, but sneaking friction as his cock is pressed between their bodies on the way down.

Graeme grabs his hips again, forcing him upright, his cock bobbing with each movement, neglected. But suddenly, that new angle – it’s the one he was searching for. Bliss. The tip of his cock is leaking fluid, and he’s close. Every thrust from Graeme rubs gloriously against his prostate.

“Are you close, Bill?” Graeme asks, and that’s nearly all he needs. Graeme talking. He can feel the words prickling along his skin.

“Graeme!” Bill cries out, unable to articulate his need.

“You did so well, Bill. Come for me.” That voice envelops him in a wet, longing heat with such yearning that it drags the orgasm right out of him. Thick strings of come shoot out over both of them. 

“Good boy, so good for me.” Graeme talks Bill through the aftershocks, feeling him shuddering in his arms.

When he’s recovered, Bill opens his eyes. His head is pillowed on Graeme’s chest and Graeme’s arms are wrapped around his shoulders.

A subtle, or perhaps not so subtle wriggle of his hips tells him that Graeme must have had to finish himself off and Bill is appalled at himself. Probably the first rule in the code of conduct of sex is to make sure your partner is satisfied before you fall asleep.

As Bill is trying desperately to think of ways he can make up for falling asleep on Graeme, the man interrupts his thoughts.

“Shut up.” Graeme says, eyes closed and clearly attempting to hang onto the threads of sleep that are partially wound around him.

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Bill replies defensively.

Graeme doesn’t bat an eye. “I could hear you thinking.”

Not being one to let a preposterous claim lie uncontested, Bill challenges him, “Okay smarty-pants. What was I thinking?”

Graeme opens one eye to look at Bill, “That you left the job unfinished – so to speak. Well you didn’t. 1) I set the terms and you achieved them. 2) I did finish. So please relax, and lets have a nice sleep.”

“But – when? When I was asleep? Because I’ve got to say – “

“No.” Graeme cuts him off.

“You mean – before I did my best waterfall impression?”

The analogy forces a smile out of Graeme, “Not exactly.”

“Wait – so, at the same time?”

“Yes.” 

“What!” Bill is outraged. “We’ve tried to do that so many times, and the one time we get it right I don’t even notice. This is so typical.”

In an attempt to stop Bill haring off on a righteously indignant rant, Graeme attempts to placate him, “Well, I know how I can make it up to you.”

“Yes?” Bill asks, intrigued.

“Go to sleep and I’ll tell you in the morning.”


End file.
